


Submerged

by dedougal



Series: Words Are Overrated [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles really shouldn't like walking in on Derek in the bathtub as much as he does. But he's only human. And, in the end, so is Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Submerged

**Author's Note:**

> For my lovely DazedRose who deserves all the love for prompting and encouraging this.

It was his usual lack of anything resembling tact or foresight that led to Stiles forcing his way through the flimsy lock on Derek’s door and tumbling into a heap on the tiles straight after school. He did have enough presence of mind to scoot back against the door, closing it firmly before fixing his eyes on Derek’s face which seemed frozen between a groan and a scowl. Scroan? Growl? That was probably more like it.

He could hear the gentle slap of water in the bathtub but Derek didn’t say anything. Derek never talked much anyway but he’d recently developed this habit of letting Stiles just blurt out what he needed to say and not interrupting. Being as this normally led to kissing and the occasional (frequent) orgasm, Stiles was going to let him get away with it for a bit longer. Breaking in on Derek while he was in the bath was probably starting to cross that boundary a little bit too much.

“Lydia thinks they’re necromancers.” Slap of water against the side of the bath. “The kidnappers. She’s been reading. For fun.” Stiles grimaced. “I forget reading can be fun. Like. I get reading Harry Potter for fun. Ancient tomes that are probably made of human skin, not so much.” Stiles paused for breath.

Derek’s arm was lying along the side of the bath, tanned against the cold white ceramic. He tapped his fingers, a soft drumming undercutting Stiles’ wheeze. Watching those fingers, remembering them wrapped around his cock, made Stiles forget his own name for a moment. He followed the arm up – strong forearms, biceps huge even when he wasn’t flexing. That curve of shoulder that was a good pillow and also a good place to bite. Derek’s expression had definitely slipped towards wicked grin by the time Stiles got back to his face.

“Necromancers. People who raise the dead. By making other people dead. There could be zombies. You get that this is…serious…” Stiles ran out of words again as Derek pushed up. He’d been reclined, head resting against the edge of the tub as he soaked but now he leaned up, water sluicing down his chest and Stiles was weak. Weak. Weak. And weak. He just hoped there wasn’t any obvious drool. Derek kept going, water slicking his skin, making him gleam in the harsh glare of the bathroom lights. 

Stiles hadn’t understood why Derek had insisted on a bathtub. Showers were more efficient and better the planet (go green! Recycle!) and definitely more successful at cleaning mud/leaves/blood/gore off a person. But he had a sudden appreciation for the tub as Derek continued to stand. Stiles’ pants tightened. Fast.

Derek still hadn’t said anything as he reached out and snagged a towel off the counter. He definitely knew what he was doing as he started with his face, drying his hair, leaving the length of his body bare and wet and like some work of art. Statuesque. No. Wait. That was normally applied to a woman with a generous rack. Derek was… Stiles wracked his brain trying to think of words to describe the man in front of him. Most of the time, his brain came around to the word, “Mine.”

There was a certain smugness in Stiles now, even though he was still technically a virgin. He hadn’t realised all the lines there were to be crossed before he would consider himself not a virgin anymore – the hands, the lips, the fingers… Stiles was beyond hard, now. He was leaking, wet. His underwear was bunched up uncomfortably. And suddenly he realised there was a moment here. He could have Derek, all of him, make him truly his. Not in the icky slave way (because really?) but in the kind of “we’re together and there’s no one else and there might be feelings here but we’re too manly to really say anything and we just make out instead. A lot” way.

Derek finally stopped taunting and slung the towel around his waist. “Has Lydia worked out where we might find these necromancers?” He sounded amused, which he probably was justified in being as Stiles was still unable to connect his brain and his mouth and he knew, just knew, his mouth would be hanging wide open. He snapped it shut. Then opened it again to reply.

“They’ll be human. That’s what she said.” Stiles had been desperate to get over here and explain the lead and just see Derek that he probably hadn’t paid as much attention as he should have to Lydia. Derek seemed to get that, holding his hand out to help Stiles to his feet, keeping Stiles’ hand when he pushed himself up and leading Stiles to his bedroom and closing the door firmly behind them both.

Derek’s eyes seemed greener when he pressed Stiles up against the door. They also couldn’t seem to settle, flicking between Stiles’ eyes, his cheek, his mouth, his throat. Stiles was aware of the thrum of Derek’s heart as he pressed close, the dampness of his skin soaking into Stiles’ clothes. It should be gross. It should have been terrifying. But the continual rewiring of Stiles’ brain continued and he rolled his hips forward, angling his mouth for a kiss. Derek didn’t move, didn’t break and Stiles marvelled at his control. It was the promise in Derek’s weight as much as the actual fact Stiles couldn’t shift him that kept Stiles from moving as Derek reached out a long arm and snagged his cell.

“Lydia. Necromancers. Hotels? Okay.” Derek finished the call, throwing the cell back onto his dresser. “She says they’re looking.”

“Yeah.” Stiles wriggled – no other word for it – against Derek’s hold and was gratified when the towel slipped to the ground and the… evidence of Derek’s interest pressed against his hips. “Do we need to help?”

Derek finally gave in, biting at his mouth, tongue driving in, point tangling with Stiles’ own tongue. Derek kissed like he was trying to swallow Stiles whole, his whole body moving and pressing, hands holding Stiles’ face at the perfect angle to open wide and just take it. That thought made Stiles wonder what else Derek would hold at the perfect angle and he shuddered, anticipation drowning out fear. 

“You drive me mad,” Derek muttered, lips kissing down Stiles’ neck, sucking marks. So far Stiles had managed to prevent his dad commenting on the marks with a variety of hoodies worn with the hood up and avoidance. That wasn’t going to be able to continue from the way Derek was ravaging his neck right now. His dad would need to lose his eyesight completely to not spot these marks.

“Derek…” Stiles tried to pull back but he had nowhere to go, the door holding him up was also a barricade. He didn’t really want to go. “Bed over there.”

Derek stopped mauling his neck and looked up, eyes wide. There was a shimmer that might have been Alpha red in their sudden blown out darkness. Then he reached down beside Stiles and flicked the lock. The click echoed around the suddenly quiet room. Derek didn’t move, didn’t pull Stiles and manhandle him, push him down on the bed. Stiles cupped his cheek, the stubble rough against his palm. He was definitely becoming fluent in Derek Hale body language. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Then Derek flurried into action, peeling Stiles out of his shirt before sprawling on the bed, tugging Stiles close. Their mouths found each other, hurried and hard, as Stiles toed off his sneakers. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but lying on top as Derek slowly tugged his jeans off hadn’t really figured. He worried about his socks before Derek peeled them off too. In his imagination they were clothed and then they were naked and there wasn’t that awkward in between stripping. Derek seemed to be making it easy on him by being naked a lot.

Finally Stiles was stripped bare and Derek was looking at him. The late afternoon sun slanted through the window and Stiles felt exposed, vulnerable and very, very naked. He had a moment of wondering if this was how Derek felt when he kept walking in on him before Derek’s mouth attacked him again, hot, biting kisses. Derek’s growl, low in his chest, and the tight scrape of fingernails on Stiles’ skin suggested that Derek liked what he saw. He liked it so much that his precious control was slipping. Stiles rocked his hips down, his cock brushing against Derek’s abs, and dug his own blunt fingernails into Derek’s biceps. Carefully – very fucking carefully – Stiles kissed the mouth full of fangs, letting Derek know he wasn’t going anywhere. The distraction seemed to bring Derek back to himself. The nails retracted and it was the smooth pads of fingertips Stiles felt drifting lower, skimming over his back, petting at the curve of his ass.

Stiles still wasn’t entirely sure what was happening here. He was quite enjoying all the bare skin and the rubbing and the way Derek was laid out under him. The rub of Derek’s cock against his ass. But they needed to move it on before he gave up and just spilled all over Derek’s sculpted chest or something equally embarrassing. He sat up, thighs spread on either side of Derek’s, opened wide. Derek’s palms were caught, holding him tight. It was a really, really nice feeling.

“What’s the plan?” Stiles wriggled a little. “I have a condom in my wallet. It’s been there a while though. It’s still good, right?” Blunt. Plain spoken. It was better than the outright begging he could feel building up at the front of his throat, threatening to spill out just as much as his orgasm.

Derek freed one hand and stretched out his arm, fumbling under the bed. He used the other to keep Stiles steady. He brought a brown paper bag – cliché much – out and spilled lube and a box of condoms onto the sheets. “I don’t want you to think I was presuming anything…” Derek clicked the lube open and closed a few times.

“You’re just a good boy scout, right?” Stiles leaned forward, rising up on his knees to kiss Derek. He reckoned he probably couldn’t be more obvious unless he turned around and shook his ass in Derek’s face. He felt really slutty like this as it was. But Derek didn’t seem put off. A moment’s dislocation and Stiles was on his back. That was more what he was expecting. He was not expecting Derek to immediately bend down and suck Stiles’ cock into his mouth. That was… 

Thinking was overrated anyway.

Romance novel thoughts of considerate lovers and heaving bosoms ran through his mind in some kind of shattered, broken way as Derek slowly took him apart, stretching fingers into Stiles, leaving a mass of bitten bruises across his belly and hips and upper thighs. It wasn’t perfunctory. It wasn’t driven by wanttakehave like some (most) of the other times they’d gotten jiggy with it (wow, childhood flashback). This was Derek treating him like some china doll, something precious. And Stiles kinda liked it. A lot. This was a big deal, after all. He was crossing this line that was one of those milestones. Sure he thought he’d be doing it with a girl, preferably Lydia, or he thought he’d be dead first. This was better than he could have hoped for.

Derek didn’t talk, didn’t interrupt, as Stiles forgot words and degenerated into just raw, wet sounds gasped out between all the air in his lungs being punched out of him by some clever twist of Derek’s fingers. It was overwhelming, with just that edge of pain that let Stiles know it was really happening. Isaac was going to be the only virgin in their group now. Or. Wait. Maybe Erica… Stiles put that image out of his brain as Derek rolled up to his knees, sun gilding his skin, making its moon glow shimmer. 

Stiles watched, avid, as Derek fumbled the condom on. He’d offer to help but in some ways he was afraid that if he moved this would all come to a screeching halt. Derek was in charge, holding himself firm as he leaned forward, grabbing one of Stiles’ skinny ankles to pull it around his waist. Stiles remembered every little tip from when he’d read up about this and bore down to draw Derek in. He tugged Derek forward too, showing off his bendiness, to kiss him, to let Derek know that he had no intention of calling this off, of stopping. This was what he wanted. 

It hurt, that edge of pain bleeding over into sore. But Derek’s hand on his cock and the hard pants Derek was incapable of controlling made Stiles feel powerful and strong and pretty damn amazing. And with a roll of the hips, Derek showed him exactly why this was such a big deal. Acting purely on need, Stiles grabbed at Derek, sweeping his hands over his back, his chest, his silken skin, hard muscle under softness. Stiles lifted his hips to meet every movement, every thrust, instinct driving until he whited out, heat sweeping his body as he spilled over Derek’s hand hot and quick. There wasn’t time to warn. It didn’t seem to matter as Derek tightened over him, every muscle standing taut, as Derek shook apart, letting lose a noise uncomfortably close to a howl.

Now that made Stiles feel formidable. The bone melting orgasm just made him feel awesome.

Derek rearranged them under the covers, sticky and messy and not caring. Stiles thought it was pretty good manners of him to take care of Stiles like this. He didn’t have the strength after all. He was a limp noodle, wiped out in the very best kind of way. Yup. He was definitely a fan on this. They should do this again. Soon. Like, give him twenty minutes. Maybe half an hour.

“Why were you in the bathtub?” What? That was the first thing he came out with? Stiles cursed his brain as he rolled his head on the pillow. “Sorry. That’s not-“

Derek ran a hand over Stiles’ chest, caressing, playing with the mess of come on Stiles’ belly with his fingertips. Stiles shut up. “The full moon- It still hurts.”

“I’m sorry if-“ Stiles’ protests this time were cut off by a kiss. One of those soft kisses that he and Derek didn’t really exchange. At all. Something that felt like a butterfly landing or something equally soppy.

“Nah. This was- You’re-“ Derek ran out of words before he started being either soppy or completely awkward. Stiles kissed him, with a little bit of tongue, to let him know he got it.

“Feel free. Not going to complain. Not at all.”


End file.
